last year i got a lot of nasty letters

from people from all over the globe asking me why i didnt cover the 2001 Miss Universe pageant.

it was a valid complaint.

here in the Information Age nobody was writing about the annual contest to see who was the most beautiful and talented young woman in the entire universe.

people link to drudge all the time, did he cover the miss universe pageant last year?


ashley asks me all the time, who is this drudge? who is this drudge?

i tell her


Miss Thailand 2002, Janjira Janchome hasnt heard of drudge and look how better off she seems.

This year’s pageant is being held in beautiful San Juan, Puerto and will take place May 29th for your ass.

Janjira is showing off her new mesh Spider-Man belly shirt and skirt made from three dozen afros.

the red fishnets hint whore, but her stylin mullet specifies trailer park whore.

still janjira retains an essence of purity and youthful wanderlust and her wicked witch heels complete the look wonderfully.

good luck janjira, we’ll keep our eye out for you.

anna said, why are you trying to make troubles

i said, aaaah. i aint trying to make no troubles.

she said, all this bs about women writers being crazy.

i said, take it easy. first nothing in here is true.

she said, thats the biggest lie around.

i said, second i didnt even say it, whalen said it. and i dont even know if he believed it when he said it.

she said, well you should stop saying it.

i said, i didnt even say it!

she said, cuz then people will think that you think it’s true.

i said, i do think its true, but i never said it.

she said, i dont need you anyway, the lady that they said was me just got several million dollars from penthouse and i’ll get mine soon and i didnt even have to pose, and i would appreciate it if you took down that weirdo photo essay that you have of me.

i said, i’d appreciate it if you won a tournament.

she said, id appreciate it if you just shut your big fat mouth.

i said, i know.

she said, what are you doing tonight?

i said, anna, my life is so bizarre, i could be doing a bunch, i could be doing nothing, i really dont have the foggiest. i could walk down the street and meet christina aguelera or i could–

she said, thats not how you spell her name.

i said, i know.

she said, i thought she was on your list.

i said, what list?

she said, everyone has a list of people who they’d do.

i said, do?

she said, yeah, my list is harrison ford, adam sandler, mel gibson, brad pitt, and john cusack.

i said, john cusak?

she said, yeah. now who’s on yours?

i said, i dont even

she said, come on its just fun.

i said, ok, you, mariah, madonna, christina aguelera, drew barrymore, and this chick who lives down the street.

she said, thats six you can only have five.

i said, ok, cross your name off the list.

she said, you prick.

i dont know who the young man was but he was fearless.

he greeted me with a smile, nodded at my bus pass, hit the gas and tore down wilshire like he had been there before.

“i love bukowski,” the young woman with the tounge piercing revealed to me. i was sitting in the very back row of seats in the middle. she was sitting on the drivers side next to the window. she was spying on me.

i smiled back.

“do you like any female authors?” she asked.

i continued smiling and shook my head no thinking that shed leave me alone.

i thought about how my friend had said that all the great female authors were either crazy or crazy, and it’s not amazing when crazy people write great books

and i was going to present this thesis to my fellow commuter when i saw that the bus driver had slid his way through the wilshire corridor so quickly and assuredly that we had reached my destination in record time and i had only read one poem from “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire,” and i had written only a few lines in my diary.

i got off the bus and began walking and the sun was nice and the air was clean and a homeless man dug through a public wastecan, picked up a styrofoam to-go box, inspected its contents and rejected it completely.

and at the half hour the watch left behind last night from clipper girl’s college roommate chimed on my wrist.